To Eternity (16 page)

The curving staircase drained her strength as she made her way to the top. Perhaps it was one climb too many today.

Her eyelids weighed heavy as she sat on the bed. After another sip from the wineglass, she set it on the nightstand. A deep lassitude overpowered her body. She curled up, hugging the pillow against her, gave in the struggle, and closed her eyes.

Drugged.

She forced her eyes to open. The room wavered.

He'd put something in the wine.

Chapter 21

The bedroom light remained on. Sian must be asleep by now. He'd waited in the garden for half an hour since the light first showed. She would most likely think him a coward for sedating her, but it was the only way he could think to ease her fears and the pain he'd inflict on her tonight.

Memories of pain played over his flesh as if each of his limbs felt the shock of injury for the first time. Tonight he would hurt her. It would be impossible not to. The fierce ache in his gut returned. How could he bite her and not cause pain?

I
can't!

He paced half the length of the garden and back. Each step, he repeated the instructions for how he must proceed. The wound had to be deep enough to draw her blood. He swallowed hard against the desire to lick his lips as though he might taste her. What if he couldn't control the bite?

Fear multiplied a thousand fold. Since his first kills, he had always bitten deep.

“Don't play with it, boy. Kill it!” The words of his father returned. Tonight he needed to have complete domination of the wolf's eagerness to offer a swift and easy death. He must taste blood but also exercise restraint in the same bite.

Sian
is
my
mate,
my
woman,
and
I
love
her
beyond measure.

The first stars shone
.

As soon as he changed, he'd find a rabbit and try to bite without killing it.

The moon, the bitter mistress of his change to wolf form, slid less than half full from behind a thin cloud. He turned his back on it. Slowly, his breath puffing white in the cold air, he dragged off his clothes. He'd leave them in the waterproof bag he'd brought with him and collect them tomorrow. The idea of tomorrow wisped like a haze. He couldn't imagine what the new dawn might bring if he did as Sian wished. One thing was certain. If he didn't find the courage to go through with it now, he never would, and time, his old enemy, had a certain victory.

Uncertain if it were a good thing he could find no rage to prompt this transformation. All his concentration dwelt on the hopes in his heart, willing them to be stronger than fury.

His recollection of his battle to stop the transformation in the shower the morning he'd discovered Franklyn's foul presence in the grounds of the house returned, tonight a useful tool. Breathing slow as if meditating, he tried to focus on the sensations he'd known then. The fading vision shifting between his own and the sharpness of wolf perception, he blinked as the tower's thick stone wall shimmered. A stirring in his blood quickened his pulse. The familiar start to his change gave him hope. Prickles burned his skin. Blistering hot, his body burned within.

Slow as an old man, he curled toward the ground. The quicksilver race began with his low groan.

* * * *

Magnus sucked in the rich sweetness of the air as the thin, brittle shell shattered. Joyful, he stood on all four feet and shook himself.

Free.

Free
to
run.

Run
and
hunt.

The elemental elation throbbed through him. He opened his jaws for a blissful howl. The woods of his earliest youth beckoned. They would offer him all their wealth and beauty tonight. He spun away from the house with its prying lights, and raced as fast as he could toward the line of trees casting shadows.

Skidding to a stop, he sniffed to study the vale, the beautiful curve of hills as they merged above one long valley.

Sian's
breasts.

Her breasts were smoother than this. The valley between them was always sweet-scented, offered peace, the place where he would rest his muzzle should his goddess allow.

He gave a snarl, shook his head, and sucked in a breath. The scent-laden air promised him game tonight, a chase worth the making.

Hunt.

Yes,
hunt
but
not
to
kill.

His muscles twitched. A low growl rumbled in his throat.

Not
kill.

Not
kill!

He paced on, treading over the silky chilled turf until he reached the coarser growth beneath the trees.

The ripe scent of hind met him. Somewhere close. He peered at the earth.

Prints. Deer.

Tasty deer.

Cautious now, he moved to the rim of a clearing. Another waft of odor met him.

There.

Pale
throated
as
the
goddess.

Soft,
sweet
flesh.

Crouching, his belly close to the loamy earth, he crawled forward.

Hunt.

Bite.

Not
Kill!

The creature bent her head, then turned as she nibbled at a stand of taller grasses beneath the tree.

Close enough to see the long lashes of the hind's eyes, the pale strip of her neck, he inched onward. One more move. He'd be in position to leap and bite.

Not
kill!

I will not kill her.

Open mouthed, he leaped at the deer. He gripped the hind's supple, pale throat.

Her hooves flailed as she tossed about with a wild squeal. Feet scrabbling in the leaf litter, kicking up tiny stones, she bucked. She pushed. He held. She shoved. The whites of her eyes shone brilliant in the night.

Blood. The iron rich delight made him salivate. Tongue rubbing at the source, he sucked in the first thin spurt from the wounds in her neck.

Stop!

Let
go.
Let
her
run.

He relaxed his jaw. Gasping, he set the hind free.

She thrust away from him. Another of her screeches tore into the night. The heart-shaped white flash of her rear sped away as she ran for her life.

Dribbling for her loss, he sank down to the ground, aching but somehow pleased. The hind lived.

Time passed. The stars shone like his pride. He'd bitten but not killed. Idling in the cool wood, he ran his tongue over his upper lip. A sticky smear offered a luscious taste, but he needed something more. He hauled himself up from the chill, damp ground at the edge of the turf and eyed the house. Understanding came; all he needed lay inside. Now certain where he must hunt tonight, he turned and headed out of the woods toward his quarry.

A light from a half-curtained window in the round tower beckoned him. This night, perfection awaited him. He'd no need to trail the woods. The light would lead him to quarry with skin more yielding than the hind's. She'd offer more than the lick of blood he'd yet tasted.

Sleeping.

She
await
s
me.

I
will
make
her mine
tonight.

The goddess would be his. Her blood would be the exquisite culmination of all his desires his long life.

He picked up his pace to a trot and basked in the shivery sensation racing through him. Closer now, he discovered her scent. She led him onward. A long expanse of grass lay at the front of the house. A play of shadow leaves from the tall bush by the partly open door showed him the trail across the green. Although the house made him prick up his ears and bunch his shoulders, he approached the building. This night he would go inside. He must.

The thick door stood ajar. A beam of light from within beckoned. He nudged the heavy wood with his head. A board creaked, the sound echoing like a gunshot. Instinct set his muscles ready to fight. One thing gave him pause. Reassurance, too. The scent of the goddess. Licking his lips, he sucked in her unique fragrance.

One more step took him inside the house. Lost to anything but her lure, he followed the trail up a wooden staircase. His claws clicked on the glossy boards. Another door to nudge open.

The well of lamplight spilled out from the half open door at the top of the stairs, casting shadows on the wall and floor. His heart pounded with the delight of her. Tonight she would be his.

All
mine.

A fresh growl rumbled at the base of his throat.

Every muscle quivered as he entered the room. He peered at her curled form on the bed and inhaled the perfection wafting from her flawless warmed skin.

Bite.

The force of the thought sent him floundering backward on the slippery floor.

Dare
he?

He ran his tongue over his upper lip. A hint of hind.

Though she lay motionless against the pillow, he approached slowly. He sniffed the goddess-laden air.

Taste.

He must savor her.

The bed juddered as he mounted it. She lay so close he could admire the detail of her creamy skin, the shadowy vale between her breasts, and as he breathed in again, he luxuriated in the perfect richness of her call for a mate.

Saliva flooded his mouth.

A tremble like a shockwave raced over him, raising the guard hair on his fur. He leaned forward. He lifted his lips, using the tip of his tongue to sample her aroma. The pale wealth of her throat beckoned him. Nuzzling his head against her, he dared to lick a tiny part of her arm, then a little more, which robbed him of anything but the wish to taste her glorious flesh.

The exquisite flavor beneath her curved arm proved too much. Lapping rapidly, he moved along the exposed skin. His excitement grew as he found the folds of fabric fell away at his tongue's urging. He licked up to the whiteness of her throat, tasted the edge of her sweet-scented lip, before he moved back down again.

She gave a little moan. He waited.

The goddess moved, exposing one white thigh, offering him a hope of all he desired. Watching her pale face closely, he edged down the bed. He mustn't bite her throat or her shoulder. If he did, he would break her, but he must bite.

Bite.

Her thigh sagged limp. He clasped the muscle with his jaw. A shudder of delight shook through to the end of his tail. He positioned his teeth, set ready, and bit down until the sweetness of her blood oozed into his mouth.

Not!

Kill.

“Magnus.” Her scream rang loud, but with one paw on her chest, he prevented her twisting away. She whimpered, but he clung to her thigh, salivating at the luscious glory.

Recognition appeared in her wild gaze as she pushed back toward the top of the bed, then her eyes closed and she lay limp in his grip. His goddess knew him. She favored him with her trust. Easing his jaw from the thick muscle of her thigh, he lapped once at the flow of blood racing down to the pale bedding. He gave a low-contented growl as he curled beside her beautiful body.

Chapter 22

Magnus arose from the bed. The sheet revolted him, mired with the dusty remnants of the powdery shell of his transformation and the stain of Sian's blood. Careful not to wake her, he shoved the bedding aside, reached out, grimy as he was, to check Sian's pulse. Firm and steady, a regular beat throbbed under his fingers.
Thank
God,
she
still
sleeps.

The seeping puncture wounds in her thigh sickened him, but the worst—his bite—was over, and she would heal. Desperate she shouldn't wake to blood on the bedding, he worked around her to remove the top sheet and comforter as carefully as he could. He fetched a clean hand towel to cover her bruised and bloodied thigh. Anxious she shouldn't become chilled, he tucked her silky robe around her. He took the soiled bedding, along with his robe that she'd worn last night, into the bathroom where he dumped it on the floor, unwilling to put the bloodstained mess in the laundry hamper. He'd shower, dress, and after he'd checked on Sian again, put the lot in a bin bag. Sian didn't need to see any of it.

He showered quickly, washed his hair, doing everything he could to remove any trace of last night's occurrence. Certain he was clean, he dressed in jeans and a warm sweatshirt. One glance at the bed when he entered the room, and her hollow-cheeked pallor worried him. But she'd not lost a lot of blood, nor could she be in shock, for she'd barely woke but for the one gut-wrenching scream at his bite. He smoothed his palm on her cheek. The movement of her eyelids told him she dreamed. He prayed the dreams were sweet.

The dose of tranquilizer he'd put in her wine should wear off soon. She would open her eyes to a tidy room. He hurried to take the filthy bedding away, and after he'd turned the heating up another notch, returned with coffee, a large glass of water, some painkillers, and the first aid kit.

Her expression, even in sleep, had changed. She was rousing to pain. He hung his head. When she opened her eyes, he found their light dimmed.

She gave a small cry as she moved in the bed. “Magnus.”

He got up from the chair where he'd watched over her and moved to sit on the bed beside her. “Drink some water for me. I have some painkillers for you, too. Can you manage to take them?”

She gave a little nod. “It was real?”

“Yes, dearest. Forgive me.”

“My leg, it hurts like hell.”

“I know. Here, take these—they will help the pain.” He waited for her to sit up, wincing at each small movement she made.

“Bloody hell, Magnus, why my leg? I don't think I'll be able to walk.”

The reasons he'd not dwelt on last night, he now comprehended. Some of what he understood he'd not tell her for she might be sickened by the thought. “I didn't want to break you,” he whispered. “If I'd bitten elsewhere, I could have hurt you too much, may have snapped your bones.”

“Give me the tablets, please.” She held out her hand, and he passed her two of the powerful painkillers.

“I want you to drink as much of this as you can.” He handed her the glass.

“I need the bathroom,” she whispered, before she swallowed the tablets with a gulp of water. She passed the glass back to him. “I'll try to get up. Don't look so worried.”

He moved to allow her to rise. “Do you need me to carry you?”

“No.” She moved the towel he'd placed over the wounds. “Shit!”

He caught her as she swayed. “Don't faint.”

She clung tight, her face ashen and her eyes wide.

Carefully he lifted her in his embrace, carried her to the bathroom, and set her down on the lavatory. “Do you want me to stay?”

She shook her head.

“You won't fall?”

“No.”

Uncertain if he believed her, he backed off and left the room. While he waited, he sorted out clean linen from the chest at the end of the bed. He had the fresh mattress cover, a bottom sheet, and both pillowcases on the bed before he heard the door open.

She stood in the doorway to the bathroom, pasty pale, a sheen of sweat on her brow. “I can't walk—it's agony.”

He raced to her, caught her in his embrace, lifted her, and carried her back to the bed. “I've found something warmer for you to wear,” he said as he set her down. “A fresh bathrobe. Here, I'll help you put it on, then you can have some coffee if you wish, and I'll take a look at your leg.”

“It won't need stitches will it?”

His gut churned. “No, but I want to clean the wound with a swab and cover it.” He held her gaze. “You will heal within two or three days. Believe me, this wound won't be like any other you've ever had.”

She reached for his hand after he'd slid her arm into the robe. “I hope so. Tell me it worked, Magnus. Please.”

He finished helping her into the robe. Only a smear of blood marked the silky affair she'd taken off. “I promise you, the bite will have the effect we want. Would you like some coffee?”

“Hold me first, just hold me.”

She shook in his embrace, and this close to her, he discovered a new aroma to her skin. “Yes, the bite worked. I can smell the changes within you already.”

He accepted the warmth of her lips against his, and as tenderly as he could, returned the fragile kiss. They would rediscover their passion together later, in a day or two, but right now, he'd offer her all the reassurance he could. “I'm so sorry I hurt you,” he whispered as they parted from the kiss. “I swear I will never hurt you again.”

“It was necessary—you know it.”

He cupped her chin in his palms, looked deep into her eyes, and found no resentment, only the clouds of pain. “You have gifted me so much,” he whispered, bending to kiss her again. “You have my heart eternally.”

“We will be together in every way.”

“Yes.” He kissed her again. “Now we must heal you. Coffee, and I'll attend to the damage.”

Her chin trembled as he released her, but she nodded before he turned to the coffee pot he'd brought up to the bedroom. He poured her a cupful and took it to the bed. “Drink this. I'll look at your leg while you do.”

She took a sip and looked away as he brushed the robe back from her right thigh. One of the wounds had closed already, the other wept a smear of clear liquid. The bruising around the puncture marks was deepest purple from the pressure of his bite. The discoloration spread from the top of her inner thigh down to her knee and from the front of her leg around to the back. “Keep still,” he said, reaching for the first aid kit.

Sian faced the window, her gaze fixed. He opened some medicated swabs, and keeping his touch as light as possible, cleaned over the damaged flesh.

Her coffee cup trembled in her hand as he taped a non-stick dressing in place. “There. I'll finish making the bed and you can rest.” He closed the lid on the first aid kit. He put a clean top sheet on the bed, then a blanket and a smoke-gray, satin counterpane. “Have you finished your coffee?”

She handed over the cup, easing back against the fresh pillow. “Do I have to stay in bed?”

He smiled. “For an hour or two. It will give me chance to make lunch. I'll carry you downstairs when lunch is ready.”

“Okay.” She took his hand. “I love you.”

“I know it. I can feel it within me. Your blood and mine are mingling. You will feel my love within you.”

“All the time?”

“Yes. We will be one in a way you've not yet experienced, nor I either. You will know the depth of my love, all my desire, and with your love I will be the happiest I have been in my entire life.”

A little color had come to her face. The healing, along with their growing bond, raised his hopes that soon she would be well. “You are hungry this morning. I'll make us lunch and come to fetch you shortly. Until I do, I want you to relax and rest.”

She nodded with a whimper as she turned onto her side.

He took one last look at her, picked up the coffee tray and the first aid kit, and took them downstairs.

* * * *

A lightness raised his spirit in the kitchen. A wonderful sense of triumph, hers, and the overwhelming sweetness of it brought a lump to his throat, not from his fear nor guilt, but a rich wealth of emotion. He'd not realized the sheer power of being with a bonded mate. If she swept through him like this now, how more powerful would their bond be once they celebrated it in wolf form?

His movements automatic, he loaded the dishwasher before he checked in the freezer. Sian would need meat in a way she'd not done before the bite. The desire for it might hit her today or tomorrow, but either way, he'd make sure there was plenty to satiate her hunger. Venison would do nicely for lunch. He could manage a red wine sauce and a few roasted vegetables, not that they mattered since meat would be what she wanted.

While the escallops defrosted, he prepared the vegetables in a roasting tray and set it in the oven. The venison he would cook in the red wine in a pan on the top of the stove, ten minutes or less for the meat.

She
needs
water
.

He shook his head at the instant knowledge. Would their bond allow him to feel her this deeply always? He filled a jug and carried it upstairs to her. “I've brought you something to drink.”

“How did you know? Thank you.” She accepted the glass he poured and drank deeply. “I think it must be a reaction to the—”

“Tranquilizer.”

“You know.”

“Yes, I can feel it. I can feel your pain, too. Do you want more painkillers?”

She sipped the water. “Not yet. It's too soon. I'll be okay.”

“Try to get some rest.” He smiled. “Call me if you need me to carry you to the bathroom again.” He headed back downstairs where he checked the oven. Everything looked fine so he went out to fetch the bag of clothes he'd left in the garden last night.

How different his mood was today than it had been in the moonlight. His fear gone, he could rejoice in the decision he—they—had made. He should have trusted her courage to accept him, and to take the step to join with him. They had so much they could share this week and for all time after.

He'd see her amulet made and present it to her before they left Wales. She could wear it instead of the key to the chains in the small room, where he had to be caged. He would teach her to hunt with him. Together they would be formidable. They had much to discuss about hunting. He picked up the damp bag of clothes and took them back in the house.

The smell of rosemary met him as he entered the kitchen. He'd time for a cup of coffee before he needed to do anything else to prepare their meal. His sense of peace grew deeper as Sian slept, and he could hardly wait until she woke again.

After his coffee, he set the dining table and put one of the fat cushions from the sofa on Sian's chair. As badly bruised as she was, she'd need the extra comfort.

A place at the back of his neck prickled.

“Magnus.” The call came from above. She shouldn't be walking already. He hurried over to the stairs.

She stood at the top with a smile.

“What are you doing there? Shall I come get you?”

The smile spread, capturing his heart in a net woven of love.

“I'm ready to come down now.”

“Your lightest whim is my duty.” He trod the stairs fast, and at the top, took her in his arms, lifting her into his embrace. To carry her like this could become addictive. “You are all I live for.”

Sian settled her arms around his neck, leaning her head onto his shoulder. “Good, but is lunch ready? I am ravenous.”

He clasped her tight. “Ten minutes is all I need and everything will be perfect for you.”

She gave a little yawn, stretched, too. “Fine. I can last another ten minutes. “But, Magnus, not much longer. I'm famished.”

The hairs rose on his arms and at the back of his neck. He must feed her as quickly as possible or she might tumble so deep into the realms of the wolf, he might never get her back.